For Gryffindor Honour
by SemperSomnium
Summary: Harry Potter had always thought that it would be easy to die. Of course, he hadn't counted on becoming Fates' new boy toy. A short little one-shot that mentions suicide, and is my attempt at humour. A bit Crack-ish.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Hiya! So, I have another short one-shot for you all. I don't really know how you will all take it; it is my rather lame attempt at humour (unfortunately this is one of my weaker genres to write in), and I suppose it could be seen as sort of crack-ish. So, I apologise in advance if I offend you all with my sorry attempt at humour. :)

On the other hand, I hope you enjoy it!

**Warnings: **Other than probably bad humour, this is does mention SUICIDE and has themes of death. As said, it is meant to be funny, but I'm not entirely sure if I have succeeded. It also has a few swear words, mainly just the one starting with 'b' and ending in 'itch'. If any of this offends you, please press the back button now. Thank you!

**~o.0.o~**

**For Gryffindor Honour**

**~o.0.o~**

Harry Potter had always thought that it would be easy to die. Like falling asleep, really.

Conscious one minute, gone the next.

Easy.

Of course, with him being Harry Potter and all, his death was far from easy.

In fact, his death was quite late in coming; he was finding himself becoming increasingly frustrated with how long the Grim Reaper was planning to postpone the inevitable.

First with Voldemort trying to kill him as a baby, and him miraculously surviving. He didn't buy Dumbledore's bull about how the 'power he knows not' being love; it was obviously a cruel joke of fate's and Harry was just the poor sod who had become the universe's new boy toy.

Then came his shocking, (in his opinion), survival of the Dursley's 'tender' care. He even survived with his sanity intact. Mostly. Depending on whom you asked.

Of course, you can't forget the whole Voldemort-returning-from-the-dead-to-try-and-kill-him-every-single-year (except for third) thing that he had going on.

Poor Voldie had some serious issues to work through, and if Harry was so inclined he might even suggest that they catch up for a drink-and-bitch fest to air their woes about the cruelty of fate. But as he was not so inclined, the point was moot.

There was something about someone trying to kill you that really put an end to any companionable relationship that may have developed.

So, as his many near death experiences had made abundantly clear, the Grim Reaper was obviously in no way inclined to end Harry's life any time soon. And Harry thought this very unjust.

It seemed to be that everyone in the world was dying but him, and, quite frankly, he was sick of it. He wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and his Gryffindor-ish sense of fair play was insistently demanding that he do something to rectify the cosmic imbalance the universe was currently suffering; immediately.

So, on Halloween night of his fifth year (because he thought it a nice idea to try and break the tradition of something _bad_ happening on Halloween), Harry made the long and arduous trip up to the very top of the Astronomy Tower.

It was a clear night; the full moon shone down, highlighting all the mundane, everyday things silver, and turning them into something magical. Somewhere deep inside the Forbidden Forest (which was creaking in a rather lively way considering that it was usually groaning ominously), a werewolf howled.

It was a very long way down to the ground from all the way up there, and for a moment, Harry gulped. He suddenly couldn't help but wonder if it was really necessary to right the wrong that fate was currently having a good laugh over. He _was _almost sorted into Slytherin; surely he could perhaps let this one injustice pass...?

But, the fact that he _was _sorted into Gryffindor (no matter that it was only because he had begged the hat not to place him in a house with the slimy snakes), forced him to uphold the honour of Gryffindors everywhere, and fight for justice; one wrong at a time.

So, throwing what little remained of his common sense out the metaphorical window, Harry Potter climbed bravely atop the railing, (ignoring his quaking knees and the goosebumps that were currently trying to convince him that _yes_, he was truly a Slytherin, and _no _he did not need to do this), and jumped.

Gravity immediately took effect upon his body, and Harry found himself facing death for the umpteenth time. Only, this time, he was determined to finally meet it.

He had always thought that dying would be easy.

Like falling asleep.

Instead, Harry felt as if he was flying, and the golden ball of light that was rapidly approaching was far more welcoming than any Golden Snitch. Not to mention easier to catch.

Dying was finally, blessedly, _easy._

Harry embraced death with open arms, and was already half way through the gate when his body hit the ground.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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.

.

He woke up three days later in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey forcefully clucking over him like some sort of hybrid mother hen crossed with a dragon.

According to her, Professor Dumbledore, and just about anyone else he asked, it was a miracle that he didn't die.

Harry, on the other hand, was sure that he had heard some scarily evil cackling that seemed to scream of fate just before he had hit the ground below the Astronomy Tower.

As he was still confined to the Hospital Wing for the next few days because his arms and legs were still rather weak, and his chest ached something fierce, Harry could do no more than pout at the injustice of omnipotent beings governing the universe.

He wondered if old Voldie would be up to that drink-and-bitch fest after all.

**Fin**

**Authors Request: **I'm really nervous with this fic, so if you could take a moment to leave a review, I would really appreciate it. Creative criticism would be divine. :)

Thank you!


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